


Choices

by Tarlan



Category: Renegades (1989)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-28
Updated: 2010-10-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 22:35:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buster McHenry decides to follow his heart to the Lakota Sioux Reservation... and Hank Storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choices

Abject poverty was no stranger to Buster McHenry, he'd seen plenty of it in the ghettos of Philadelphia but the unsophisticated surroundings gave the impression he had stepped out of the United States and into a Third World country. Rusty wrecks of cars adorned the frontage of many a dwelling, their battered frames substituting as a playground for dirty children in tattered clothing. Here and there was an exception, an island amid the sea of apathy. Buster was almost grateful to leave the houses behind as he drove deeper onto the Reservation.

The seemingly endless rolling hills of coarse grass and wildflowers were a new experience to his city-eyes. He had grown up in a thriving metropolis where skyscrapers were aptly named as they stretched their masonry fingers towards the stratosphere, but it was the openness that awed him most of all. Until now his sense of distance had been restricted to the heights of the skyscrapers and to the lengths of grey pavement overshadowed by those same buildings. He pulled the car off the side of the long, dusty road, got out and walked a short distance away until he was surrounded by grassland. Taking a deep breath in through his nose, he held it in his lungs then released it slowly through his mouth. It felt strange to not find that bitter metallic taste of the city coating his tongue and the back of his throat.

The air was hot and dry yet sweet with the perfume of shrubs and wildflowers. Buster coughed feeling the lifetime of accumulated city pollution and nicotine congeal inside his lungs and throat, noticing for the first time in his life how blocked his nose felt as he tried to inhale the sweet, pure air.

As he gazed around he forced his mind to stop thinking and allowed his senses to take over. Gradually he located sounds in what had seemed at first like an eerie silence compared to the constant hum of the city; the buzzing of insects, the cry of birds overhead and the soft hushing of the slight breeze through the tall grass. His eyes took in colors; lilac, red and all shades of green and brown blending naturally in the vista set before him.

"No wonder Hank came back here."

His own voice seemed alien to him after driving for several hours in silence. The last person he had spoken to had been the girl at the car rental counter - all efficient and impersonal with a smile that seemed glued to her pretty face until he had stepped up to the counter. Her dark eyes had widened a fraction in appreciation. He snorted as he realized what a change he must have seemed from the usual pot-bellied tourist dressed in obligatory Hawaiian shirt, baggy shorts and baseball cap.

Buster looked up into an azure blue sky, squinting even through the Raybans as his gaze took in the brilliant yellow orb climbing towards it's zenith.

"Rest stop over."

Moments later he was behind the wheel edging the rental back onto the highway and with nothing else to distract him his thoughts returned to Hank Storm.

Over a month had passed since that night at Marino's ranch and he could still taste the fear in his mouth as he looked down the wrong end of a gun knowing there would be bargaining with the man holding the weapon. In that moment, when the cold eyes had captured his own, Buster knew he was dead. It was the battle cry of Hank Storm and the ensuing fight with JJ that had distracted the ruthless killer giving Buster the opportunity to save them both. Even now he could not comprehend the strength and accuracy with which he had thrown the Lance. The logical part of his mind told him it was a surge of adrenaline caused by desperation but the primitive believed the mystical qualities of the Lance had guided his hand.

He remembered sitting in the dirt watching his winded friend climb to his feet, eyes still holding his own as Hank stumbled towards Marino. Hank had put out the flames burning along the broken shaft of the Lance with his coat before pulling the weapon from the dead body.

The sound of sirens in the distance had broken the spell and the rest of the night retained a nightmarish quality as he was manhandled by the local Sheriff's department. From that time on Buster saw only snatches of his new found friend as both were handcuffed and led away towards separate vehicles. His last sight of Hank Storm had been through the back window of a Police car. By the time the authorities had confirmed his innocence, the Indian had gone.

"You never even said good-bye."

-ooOOoo-

Hank Storm stood up in the saddle and counted the bodies trailing behind him.

"Yep. All there."

He'd not managed to lose a tourist yet but there was always the first time. He couldn't remember how many times he had performed this same tour guide but it brought in much needed dollars, even more so since the death of his brother, George, and his father. The Lakota had readily accepted him as the new Wicasa Wakan - the Medicine Man - and he found that, between the two duties, there was enough money to support his mother and George's family. So why was he not content?

The emptiness that had filled him all of his life, that had driven him from the Reservation as a young man, was still with him. Hank shied away from remembering how that loneliness had dissipated during those five days in Philadelphia for that path led nowhere. Buster was a white boy, city born and bred, and Hank... Well, he could never imagine giving up this life again despite the loneliness.

He gazed across the rolling hills hearing the whisper of the breeze through the long grass and frowned as he noticed a strange sensation growing in the pit of his stomach. It was a nervous tingling like butterflies fluttering inside him - a feeling of excitement that grew stronger with each passing second and yet it was a pleasing feeling. Hank shook his head in consternation. He was still trying to come to terms with his gifts and had yet to figure out how to unravel all the images and sensations into something more coherent. Had he been alone he would have led his horse into the taller grass and allowed the sensations to build, calling upon his Spirit Guide to lead him to revelation.

Hank pushed the errant feelings aside and devoted his full attention to the expectant faces of this latest group of tourists. For a change all the people behind him were native Indian so he altered his normally neutral dialog to express pride in his own nation, almost gloating as he described the way the Lakota Sioux had defeated the superior forces of the Cavalry at Round Ridge.

The blare of a car horn caught him by surprise but there was no mistaking the face behind the wheel as the car pulled to a halt beside the group. Hank barely restrained a cry of pleasure as a familiar figure stepped from the car, having to look away for a moment to regain his composure, but not before he had taken a good look at the stocky figure.

Buster appeared slightly thinner from the last time he saw him but the crystal blue eyes were as bright as the azure sky above them.

"Hey! You're under arrest."

Hank felt the shock ripple through the group despite the playful tone in the voice and found his own lips savouring the feel and sound of a single word.

"Buster."

The meeting felt strangely awkward. He wanted to say so much, wanted to reach out and touch the man standing in front of him, to ruffle the golden hair and wrap his arms around the leaner frame in greeting but he could feel the presence of the others watching his every move. Hank smiled as he recognized the same need written across his friend's expressive face, but he also read indecision - and fear. No words had passed between them since they had separated at the burning barn on Marino's ranch and Hank knew how inscrutable he could appear at times. The Indian smiled as Buster turned away and headed back to the car. It was so like his friend to ignore his own desires and not force his company onto others.

Hank felt a stabbing in his heart as he took in the slightly lost expression. He couldn't allow Buster to leave all uncertain and insecure.

"I found you last time."

Judging from the light that leaped into the beautiful eyes his words had conveyed all he intended. He watched as the car receded into the distance and knew, somehow, that this particular tour would seem the longest of his life.

-ooOOoo-

The hotel looked no different from the dozens of others he had stayed in yet there was something intangible in the air as he waited in the small, empty lounge. A cool glass of beer lay untouched before him despite the dryness of his mouth. His heart leaped into his throat as a silhouette passed in front of the opaque window and he waited impatiently for the door to open.

Hank paused on the threshold, his eyes drinking in the sight of his friend once more. He watched as Buster gained his feet and moved around the table towards him. Moments later he found the smaller man wrapped in his arms and he hugged him back with all his strength. All too soon he felt the other retreat to a safer distance but he couldn't mistake the pleasure written across the flushed face. Buster looked away in embarrassment.

"Sorry, Chief. I didn't mean to get so emotional."

"S'Okay."

An easy silence fell between them as if words were unnecessary then suddenly the dam burst open and they were talking and laughing as if they had been friends all their lives. Eventually the lateness of the hour brought a halt to their reunion.

"How long are you planning to stay?"

"Just a few days... but I can extend that up to a week."

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow - I'll give you a special guided tour."

"Ahh... Chief? Do we have to go on horses?"

Hank smiled enigmatically and watched as dread furled the tall forehead. He reached out and pushed the errant lock of golden hair back and nodded as if dealing with a small boy rather than a grown man.

Buster sighed in both resignation and acceptance before accompanying Hank to the door. There was a strained moment as Hank reached the threshold where he was almost convinced Buster was going to invite him up to his room - but it passed. His thoughts returned to another hotel where he had been forced to pick up the wounded Police officer and carry him to their room. The words of the concierge drifted through his mind as he walked back to his pick-up 'must be on their honeymoon' and he smiled deprecatingly when he recognized the slight wistfulness that wished it had been true.

-ooOOoo-

Buster closed the bedroom door behind him and sank against it, terrified at how close he had come to ruining everything. Long ago he had accepted his own preference towards men but Hank was special. He wanted Hank so bad it hurt but he couldn't bear to see those enigmatic black eyes turn from his in betrayal and disgust. He would do anything to prevent that happening.

That night, his dreams were filled with visions of long, delicate fingers tracing paths of fire across his sensitive skin and of a mouth devouring his own in hungry kisses. He awoke to find his body burning with desire and his mind's eye supplied images of his dream lover as he stroked himself to a strangely unfulfilling climax.

Buster rolled over onto his stomach as the last spasms faded away, muffling his gasps in the soft down of the pillow. As always, he felt the heat of tears prickling his eyes but a lifetime of control prevented them from falling. He took a deep breath and glanced up at the bedside clock frowning when he realized he had slept longer than he had intended but there was still time for a shower and breakfast before Hank arrived - and still time to force his wayward emotions back under control.

-ooOOoo-

Buster eyed the horse with a certain amount of trepidation. It seemed gentle enough but looks could be deceiving.

"Are you sure it won't bite?"

Hank smiled. He'd been riding since he was old enough to walk but was sensitive enough to recognize the fear that darkened the blue eyes. He'd seen the same expression on a dozen faces but none had ever invoked such a protective streak in him as it did at this moment. Hank held tightly to the reins as he instructed his friend on how to mount up.

"Always mount from the left. Place your foot in the stirrup and spring up. If you try to go up slow the horse gets uncomfortable and will start to move off. See... You're a natural. Now take up the reins like this."

Buster gripped the reins tightly after looping them across each palm between thumb and little finger then watched the agile Indian mount his piebald horse.

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"What? The bit? No. Only if you pull too hard. Now shorten the rein so she knows you're there or she'll ignore your commands."

Hank smiled again. He'd deliberately chosen the most gentle animal in the stable - the one he normally placed inexperienced children on - for he wanted this day to be perfect.

Last night, after leaving Buster, he had returned to his home and had spent the rest of the night in front of the small log fire in silent contemplation. His mind replaying the myriad expressions on his friend's face but they always returned to that final moment when the longing and desire had been written so plainly for a split second in time. The realization and fear that had swept desire away had been just as apparent and it was for this reason alone he knew he would have to be careful in his seduction of the other. Buster McHenry had been burnt too many times in his short life to willingly place his hand in the fire once more.

His dreams, both waking and asleep, had been filled with the warmth of this man since the day his eyes had first been captured across a museum floor. By the end of this week he wanted to have the reality - and if the Spirits were kind - he would hold Buster forever. It didn't matter that they were from different worlds for the Spirits had revealed their ever-crossing paths down through the centuries. In this lifetime he would bind their souls together in a bond that would survive even death and they would walk the same path in future reincarnations until the end of time.

Hank turned off the normal trail leaving civilization well behind them as he headed for the secluded places he had discovered as a child. Every once in a while he looked back at his companion, drinking in the sight of golden hair ruffled by the slight breeze. He wished he could see the wonder in the blue eyes as they gazed around in awe but the Raybans hid them within their dark depths. Often he could sense those eyes burning into his back sending a tingling sensation along his spine and nerve endings. They spoke rarely, enjoying the companionship in silence. Finally, they reached the crest of another hill and stopped, staring into the breathtaking sight stretched before them.

"There."

Buster followed the line of the outstretched hand to where a ribbon of water disappeared into a small copse. He gave the horse a small kick and followed the piebald down the slope, thankful their goal was now in sight after spending several hours in the saddle.

The rest of the day passed so quickly yet was filled with frustration for both men as each tried hard to hide their true feelings from the other. Neither had the urge to be the first to break that final barrier for the stakes were too high. Their friendship had taken only a few days to bind them to the soul and neither wanted to lose it.

They watched as the sun sank slowly towards the horizon dragging a brilliant red cloak behind that promised another beautiful day.

"Time to head back."

For a moment time stretched between them filled with emotion and heavy with the words that neither was prepared to speak. The moment passed and soon they were on the trail heading back towards civilization.

-ooOOoo-

Buster watched as the long, dextrous fingers unsnapped the buckles and pulled the bulky saddles from their mounts. The smell of fresh hay filled the stable along with the fresher smell of manure. Buster crinkled up his nose but smiled as he recognised the teasing expression on his companion's face.

"It's a lot healthier than Carbon Monoxide."

They walked slowly across the yard towards the rental. Buster stopped suddenly and turned to his friend, his arms wrapping around himself in a self-conscious gesture.

"Thanks. I had a great day."

"S'Okay. Perhaps we can do something else tomorrow. I could show you where the Elders keep the Lance when it's..."

"Sure, I'd like that. Well... I suppose I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay."

Hank watched his friend clamber behind the wheel and waved once, almost perfunctorily as the car pulled away, his heart wishing he had been wrapped in those arms, moving towards dawn. Am I in love, or is it the magic of tonight? The words of a song reverberated around his mind and he sighed. He knew the answer already. He was in love.

-ooOOoo-

Buster stretched to ease the kinks from sleeping on a mattress that had seen better days. He almost sneered as he thought of how he would like to have added to those better days. His dreams had been filled with warm hands and dark eyes that swept the uncertainty from his soul leaving him desperate for contact. He stared at the clock wondering whether the Indian would be awake.

"Of course he will be."

Buster reached for the phone by his bed and dialed the number he had committed to memory. It was answered on the fifth ring by a well-remembered and well-loved voice.

"Hank? It's Buster. I hope I didn't wake you..."

A small chuckle drifted along the wires, warming his heart and taking the sting out of the following words.

"I've been up for hours with the horses."

"Yeah... well I thought I'd give you a call as we didn't make any firm arrangements..."

The silence drifted on for a moment while Hank dwelled on the soft melodic voice that whispered down the line. He sensed the sudden strained silence.

"How about I pick you up around 11. I've got a tour party until then."

"Outside my hotel?"

"Sure. Did you sleep all right?"

"Yeah. Fine. You?"

"Yeah. One of the mares was a little restless but...." Hank stopped, suddenly aware he was talking gibberish merely to keep Buster on the line. "Well, I'd best get back to work. I'll see you at 11."

"Yeah. I've got a few chores to do before then."

Hank held onto the receiver long after the disengaged tone had sounded.

Buster squinted up into the strong sunlight as he stepped through the doorway. The street beyond reminding him more of the old westerns he had loved as a child rather than a modern day township. He could almost visualize Gary Cooper striding along the main street to meet his destiny. He shook his head and stepped off the sidewalk onto the dusty road. The decision to stay a few days longer necessitated a trip to the local Bank.

The heavy shutters kept the morning heat from stifling the bank's interior and a ceiling fan brought welcome relief. Everything seemed to be more relaxed - less chaotic than the city, like stepping into another time zone. Buster felt all his impatience ebb away as he felt his mind and body relax into the unhurried atmosphere. He made his way towards the cashier and began the small transaction that would ensure he had enough cash to cover the addition time he intended to spend on the Reservation.

With his mind so relaxed the sudden flare of his Cop's sixth sense raised the hairs on the back of his neck and he turned in one swift movement towards the door, his hand reaching for his gun beneath his left armpit. Panic widened his eyes as he came up empty suddenly remembering how he had felt secure enough to leave the gun behind at the hotel.

The swarthy man sneered as he relaxed his finger on the trigger of the extended weapon and motioned the blond-haired man away from the counter with the gun.

"Now all you good folks can put your bellies on the floor - except you."

Buster glanced back at the frightened cashier but knew he could do nothing to help the young man so he sank to the floor as ordered. The cracked linoleum felt cool yet rough against his cheek but he forced away any discomfort as he concentrated on the robbers. From his prone position he could see three pairs of denim-clad legs still standing yet his sixth sense told him there was one other - someone who had crept through the back entrance to the bank. He stiffened as he felt the reverberation of soft footsteps behind him, hearing the soft creak of stretched denim as someone crouched down beside him. Just as he decided to turn his head and take a look at the stranger Buster felt fingers card through his hair from forehead to the nape of his neck then move forward again to gather up the silky, golden strands that fell across his forehead.

"Make a nice addition to my scalp pole."

Buster swallowed hard as the swish of a knife leaving its sheath sounded close to his ear. He tightened his muscles ready to fight but the hand released the tight hold on his hair and he felt the other push away from him. Buster watched as a well-built man in denim jeans and jacket stepped over him, his eyes taking in the glossy dark hair that fell below shoulder level. As the man turned he caught a fleeting glance of a white feather secured into a tight side-braid before his eyes were captured by deep brown depths; Buster committed the face to memory. The skin was a deeper shade than Hank's and the features, containing none of the softness he associated with his friend, were typical of the stereotype Red Indian he seen in comic books as a kid, with hooded eyes, high cheekbones and heavy nose.

The Indian sneered at his hostage, his white teeth gleaming against a sun and wind burnt face as he took in the pale complexion and deep blue eyes beneath the blond hair. He pulled out a thin piece of rope from his back pocket.

"Keep your gun trained on him."

"What'ya doing, Red?"

"Hostage."

"We don't need no hostage. Just' git the money an' let's go."

The Indian ignored his associate knowing the gun would be aimed as directed. He dropped down beside the young Philadelphian and, with the speed of a wrangler, had tied the small hands firmly at the wrist. The Indian stood dragging Buster up with him.

"You should listen to your partner. A hostage will slow you down."

Buster was pulled unceremoniously through the door and towards a rusty blue Plymouth but moments later found himself being forced back inside the bank.

-ooOOoo-

A sense of unease filled Hank and he glanced back along the line of tourists. The tour was almost over and the final words of thanks fell from his lips automatically as he watched them slide from their ponies. Hank handed the reins of his favorite piebald over to Theresa, his brother's widow.

"Teri, could you see to the horses."

Teri frowned in concern but nodded. She knew better than to ask what was wrong, recognizing the strained expression that came more often to her brother-in-law as his Spirit powers increased.

Deep inside Hank knew something had happened to Buster. He forced himself to walk to the pick-up despite every instinct screaming at him to run. As the car pulled away in the direction of the small town he chanted softly to himself the only certainty he felt.

"He's not dead. He's not dead. He's not dead..."

The scene in town was one of chaos with people milling about in the center of the dusty street while police vehicles destroyed the peace with the insistent whoop of their sirens. Flashing blue and red seemed out of place; an encroachment of modern technology against an Old Wild West back-drop.

Hank pulled to a halt just beyond the circle of police cars and pushed his way through the crowd towards the Bank at the center. He was half-expecting to see Buster in the thick of the action but a quick scan did not reveal the presence of his golden-haired friend.

"What's going on?"

The Reservation officer turned in annoyance at the interruption but his features schooled quickly to respect as he recognized the new Wicasa Wakan.

"The Bank was hit about half an hour ago. The gang tried to make a get-away but we were waiting for them. They're holed up in there right now."

"Hostages?"

"Yep. As far as we know there's Mike Harshaw, young Ted Bearclaw who's the Cashier and about three customers, Mrs Markham, John Hewitt and some tourist."

"Fair-hair, blue eyes, stocky build, late twenties?"

The cop nodded in awe of the close description.

"You know this tourist?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. His name's Buster. Buster McHenry."

-ooOOoo-

"Red, we've gotta get outta here before the Sheriff can bring in the f**king FBI."

Buster glanced from the agitated robber with the swarthy complexion up into the Indian's expressionless face. He ignored the quiet sobs of the woman who huddled in the corner with the Bank's other hostages and concentrated on the man who held him so securely. His own soft voice sounded calm and even compared to the quiver in the other's.

"He's right, Red, robbing banks and taking hostages is a federal offense."

"Keep it buttoned or I'll cut the tongue out of your pretty head."

Red emphasized this by drawing the flat of the blade across McHenry's cheek. The Indian smiled slightly as his hostage stiffened in apprehension and then hauled McHenry across the room to force him down on the floor inside the cashier's small compartment.

"Bring the rest of them over here. I want them some place secure and out of the way."

Buster McHenry grimaced as the four other hostages were forced into the small compartment leaving no room for him to maneuver.

-ooOOoo-

"I want everyone to get back. Now!"

The local sheriff sighed in exasperation as his words went unheeded by the people around him but he was not surprised. This was a small town where there was rarely any action taking place except for the usual Saturday night fight at the local bar. There had been a murder or two in the past but nothing as exciting as a full scale siege on the local bank. Sheriff Running Elk pulled off his Stetson and wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. He glanced around as he spotted one of his deputies approaching with the Wicasa Wakan, Hank Storm.

Although he did not believe in all that spiritual mumbo jumbo he had enough sense not to annoy the mainly Indian population and waited patiently.

"We've gotta name for that tourist. Buster McHenry. The city Cop that helped retrieve the Lance."

Running Elk gave Hank Storm a hard look and nodded, unsure whether they had just found an ace up their sleeves or not. However, this was one occasion when Storm hoped McHenry would sit back and let the local cops and the Feds deal with the situation.

As it turned out there was no need for him to worry. The FBI arrived and within a few short hours they convinced the Gang to release all but one hostage, Mike Harshaw, the Manager of the Bank. Ted Bearclaw was first out and a few moments later Buster McHenry found himself walking unsteadily through the bank door into the bright, early afternoon sunshine, a silent, frightened woman holding onto one of his tightly bound arms. He stumbled on the shallow wooden step that led down off the sidewalk onto the dusty road, the woman falling with him but was saved by a strong pair of arms that seemed to come out of nowhere. His eyes turned towards his savior and a broad smile swept across his face with recognition.

"Hank."

Other hands grabbed Bearclaw, the woman and Hewitt. All but McHenry were led quickly to safety beyond the ring of police cars.

Running Elk watched the young policeman as the rope binding his wrists was cut away, sympathizing with the man as the blood flowing back into his fingers and cramped legs caused sharp pins and needles. Within a minute the FBI had a clear picture of who was left in the bank and their last known positions. Despite his protestations, Buster McHenry was led away once he had imparted the information.

"Hey, Chief, you're hurting me."

Buster glanced across at the expressionless features. No, not expressionless. The fine features were tightly drawn, the eyes narrowed and hard. The hand gripped more tightly onto his arm as Hank Storm pulled him away from the buzzing scene towards the small hotel. Savagely, Buster pushed away all thoughts of fighting and allowed himself to be steered in to the hotel and up the stairs to his room. As the door closed behind them, Hank turned and pulled the smaller man into his arms, crushing McHenry against his chest in a fierce hug, burying his face in the blond hair.

McHenry pushed, savagely, against the other man forcing some distance between them.

"What the hell do you think you're--"

"I thought I was going to lose you just when I had found you."

McHenry felt a shiver run through him as the soft words reached him through the hot haze of anger, suddenly understanding the true depth of Hank Storm's feelings for him. Gently, he reached out and drew the lankier frame into his arms.

"Hank? Hank, it's okay? I'm alright."

By now Hank could feel the tightness of his erection against his jeans. Hands moved down to gently cup his buttocks through the rough denim and he was pulled firmly against McHenry. He could feel an echoing hardness against his stomach. The soft lips took his once more and he felt Buster's hands move up to slowly push the buckskin jacket from his shoulders. He did not resist and allowed gravity to take the heavy item from his body. The hands moved back to his sides and he could feel them gather up the edges of his tee shirt. He moaned in disappointment as Buster pulled away so he could lift the thin cloth over Hank's head but sighed in pleasure as he was drawn back into strong arms, his naked chest lying against the soft cotton of Buster's shirt. Hank reached up but felt himself gently pushed away as Buster unfastened the buttons and shrugged the shirt from his shoulders. As the material dropped to the ground he reached forward and pressed his naked torso against Hank. He reached between them to caress a dark nipple and then took Hank's mouth once more in a deeply satisfying kiss. Their tongues entwining lazily.

Buster broke the kiss and stared into love-soaked eyes asking and receiving consent to continue. The flushed face softened as Buster's hands moved to pull down the zip of Hank's jeans. He eased his hand inside to rest against the hard length still covered by thin cotton briefs. His palm rubbed sensuously along the length and felt the shaft harden even more. A moan escaped from Hank's lips and Buster looked up to see Hank's head thrown back in abandonment. He nipped at the exposed throat and then, with both hands he tugged at the black denim, pulling the jeans down over the sharp hip until they fell of their own accord.

Buster reached back to grab the waistband of the light briefs and gently eased them over the burgeoning erection. He pushed them down as far as he could and then took Hank's hands and placed them against his own now very restrictive clothing. The non-verbal request reached Hank's inflamed mind and he reciprocated. The Lakota let his fingers toy with the long shaft that sprang free. He felt Buster's fingers slide over his hip, down his flat abdomen to slide through the dark hair to the base of his throbbing shaft. The fingers wrapped tightly around him and then began to move slowly up to the sensitive tip and then down to the base. Hank's body began to thrust in time to the rhythm of Buster's hand and his own hand moved to the silken shaft of his partner and mirrored the pumping movement. Together they rubbed and pulled until Hank felt the nerves in his groin tingle ever stronger until they finally overloaded. A warm sensation spread out from the pit of his stomach through his groin sending his mind into orbit and he shuddered hard as warm fluid jetted between their closely pressed bodies. New warmth followed moments later covering his hand and they collapsed against each other in completion.

Hank buried his face in Buster's neck as his knees weakened and found himself held in a tight embrace. He could feel the strong pulse in the Philadelphian's neck and could hear the echo of his own heartbeat in his ears.

Once he felt that Hank was strong enough to stand alone, Buster pushed himself away to arms length and gazed at his new lover. He smiled in lazy repletion and leaned forward to pull Hank against himself once more. His head moved until his mouth was close to one delicate ear.

"I've wanted this for a long time."

He drew back several paces. A smile curved on Hank's face as he realized how strange they must look standing in the middle of the room with their jeans around their ankles. He saw the same thought mirrored in his lover's face.

"No."

Hank stopped Buster from removing his clothes but kicked off his own trainers and jeans. He moved back to kneel in front of Buster and began to untie the laces of Buster's shoes. Buster leaned onto the broad shoulders as each foot was lifted in turn to remove the final articles of clothing. Once they were both fully undressed, Hank stood up and moved into his lover's arms. This time the kiss was full of tenderness and Buster allowed Hank to cover his face in feather light kisses.

Eventually Hank pulled back.

"Let's move somewhere more comfortable."

He gently pressed Buster back until they stood over the bed and then he eased Buster down until his own body covered the smaller man. Buster's mouth sought his once more and he softened beneath the insistent touch.

As the kiss lengthened he felt his body begin to respond. A warm stirring in his loins sent fingers of energy carousing through his body until his whole being was aroused and demanding. His senses seemed to soak away into his needs and he felt his body being turned over until he lay on his stomach. Soft caresses from tongue and fingers across his buttocks only served to heighten his pleasure. Some small part of him knew what Hank intended but its voice was drowned out by screaming nerve endings.

Buster felt his buttocks parted and a finger, dampened with their previous come, teased about the entrance to his body. He felt a strong finger press against the hot ring of muscle and pushed back as it slipped inside to caress the inner wall. He squirmed against the welcome intruder and moaned in loss as it slowly pulled out of him but then in pleasure as the single finger was returned with another. The delicious torture continued until he was almost thrusting against the fingers that explored him so intimately.

Suddenly the fingers withdrew and Buster shivered in anticipation. The blunt, thick shaft that nudged against him made him tighten his muscles but gentle words of encouragement and the soft caresses of Hank's hands willed him to relax. As his body released it's tight control, Buster felt the thick shaft penetrate the ring of muscle and stop. Discomfort was quickly replaced by pleasure as Hank's hands reached beneath him to stroke his softening organ back into life. Hank waited while Buster accommodated himself and sobbed in delight when Buster pushed back to bury the rigid shaft deep inside him. Buster felt Hank's groin pressed tightly against his buttocks and remained still as they gloried in his new experience. Hank leaned forward and kissed the nape of his lover's neck and Buster twisted his head so their mouths could meet in an quick, awkward yet satisfying kiss.

The movement started slowly. A gentle rocking but with each forward motion the thrust became stronger until Hank was plunging into the captive body with wild abandon. Each movement increased the friction between Hank and the bed and he felt his own pleasure escalate.

With a cry of intense pleasure, Hank stilled as his seed jetted forth into his lover's body feeling the strong muscles clench around his shaft as the warm sensation filled the smaller man. Hank collapsed against his sweat-soaked back and lay still, breathing heavily. After a while he moved and his swiftly softening organ escaped from its tight prison.

Hank rolled his weight off the body beneath him and turned Buster over to pull him into his arms. He smiled as he saw Buster's firmly erect shaft. He laid Buster back on the bed and then moved until he could lick the silky skin. His tongue swirled along the taut skin and across the sensitive head. He let the tip of his tongue push into the circle to lick the delicate flesh beneath the foreskin. Hank leant forward and gently took the rosy tip into his mouth allowing his tongue to swirl across the sensitive nerve endings. His hand slowly pumped from the base of the organ in time with his sucking and he listened as Buster's breathing became more ragged. Raising his eyes he watched as the blue eyes closed and ecstasy crossed the soft, boyish features.

Buster thrust harder and harder into the warm, wet mouth until Hank felt the shaft throb in his hand and tasted the jet of salty fluid. He swallowed the creamy liquid that filled his mouth with each thrust, sucking hard on the shaft until he had drained every drop from Buster's body.

Hank licked around the tip and along the shaft before releasing the softening organ and clambering back up the bed. He lay alongside the sweat-slicked body and pulled Buster against him until Buster's head lay on his chest. Hank kissed the satiated face over and over in a litany of soft caresses as they drifted off to sleep.

-ooOOoo-

The strong sunlight had long since faded into the weakness of dusk by the time the lover's awoke and, for a long time they gazed into each other's eyes, giving and receiving assurance that there were no regrets. Eventually, Buster sat up and reached for the bedside lamp. The small wattage bulb pushed away a little of the encroaching darkness.

"So what comes next?"

Hank Storm sank back, averting his eyes from the other man as he considered all their options, knowing that he had already discarded any that meant he would leave the Reservation yet afraid to ask Buster to give up his city life. The silence stretched between them until McHenry sighed.

"It's obvious you can't leave here. You've become too important to the People - and to your brother's family."

"I won't beg you to stay."

"Did I tell you that I've decided to quit the Force? Do you think there might be work for an white-ass, ex-Cop on a Lakota Reservation?"

"I can't ask you to sacrifice your career for me."

McHenry chuckled softly. No, Hank would never make any demands of him - it was not in his nature.

"It's no sacrifice. That episode with Marino made me realize how little I cared whether I lived or died - until I met you. I want to stay with you."

Hank Storm smiled and reached out to pull the other man into a tight embrace. He kissed the full mouth and then moved his head until his lips were close to one ear.

"I heard Sheriff Running Elk mention he needed more ethnic minorities in the Reservation Police Service... and you can't get more ethnic than a white-ass Philadelphian."

THE END


End file.
